


feel no pain

by themomentofdavyprentiss



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, blink and you miss it sheith, has a nsfw scene? but it isn't explicit, loturaweek2018, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themomentofdavyprentiss/pseuds/themomentofdavyprentiss
Summary: On the night of Lotor and Allura’s wedding, Honerva bestows upon her son a gift incomparable to any other: A spell that will make him immune to any harm, magical or physical. But, the price of such a gift runs too steep, and Lotor becomes determined to reverse the effects, no matter what it takes.For Lotura Week 2018: Mythology AU





	feel no pain

**Author's Note:**

> Since finishing season 6, I kept mentally comparing Lotor and Honerva’s relationship to Freya and Baldur's in God of War (amazing game, HIGHLY recommend it). I hadn't originally planned on participating in Lotura Week as I have too many other projects I'm working on, but when I saw this prompt I knew I had to write it.  
> This world is an amalgamation of Midgard and the Voltron universe. I didn't give it enough thought for it to really make sense, just roll with it.  
> Also, thank you to the Lotura discord (specifically beansquat and knightdawn) for letting me scream about this fic and helping me through it. I wouldn't have had the motivation to finish this without you!

_Long live High Emperor Lotor._

It is the first thing Honerva hears as she comes to the mouth of the abyss. She soaks in the phrase, breathing in a sigh of relief that this is the message that greets her.

She stands on the edge of everything. Coming here is an old routine, and one Honerva treasures every time she visits. If the broken planets around offered any sort of life, she knows she would move here to spend all of her days with this infinite fountain of knowledge. It sends a thrill through her veins to have such access to both past and future.   

“It’s been a long time, old friend.” She removes the cloak from her head, baring herself to the all consuming black. “I humbly ask that you tell me what you know about my son.”

The darkness dissipates, and Honerva is left standing in a massive room filled with people. She recognizes it instantly as the throne room of the castle on Daibazaal. People sit in rows, all intently watching what is happening at the front of the room. Looking past the crowd, Honerva can see the infinite galaxies and solar systems just beyond the large glass wall, constellations aligning perfectly for this very moment. Illuminated by starlight, Prince Lotor stands before the masses, facing a beautiful woman with hair as white as snow. _Princess Allura,_ Queen of Altea, and Lotor’s betrothed.

He looks at her as if she is more magnificent than all the planets behind him. She looks at him much in the same way. When the High Priest stops speaking, Lotor leans down, kissing his new bride. Cheers and cries of joy erupt from the crowd. 

Honerva watches as the priest pulls out two matching crowns. Gently, he places them on each of their heads. Taking each other by the hand, Lotor and Allura turn to the crowd, each positively glowing. The priest takes their joined hands and lifts them high into the air.

“Long live High Emperor Lotor!” The priest says. “Long live Empress Allura!”

Honerva’s heart swells. As the scene before her fades, she cannot help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy. She knows in one month’s time, this vision will become a reality, and her son will be joined in a union unlike any seen before.  

She feels her next vision before she can see it. Icy winds bite into her flesh, unforgiving of her intrusion. Around her spans never ending whiteness. The snow falls around her so hard she can barely see. Nearby, a woman sobs. Her cries are shattering, cutting through the howling winds with horrific ease. Honerva approaches hesitantly, terrified of whatever it is she might see. 

As she approaches the grieving woman, Honerva sees she was right to be worried. Allura sits on the ground, cradling her husband’s head in her hands. He lays limply in her arms, lifeless and unmoving. His armor is soaked with blood, the deep red seeping out of a hole in his chest, quickly freezing as it rolls down his body. Honerva waits for anything, an explanation, a reason, a vision of _how,_ but instead of answers she is instead thrown back into the blackness of the abyss. 

This can’t be. The abyss has never shown her anything like this. Her visions have never been this vague. They always come with an answer, or at least last long enough for her to infer her own. She braces herself, waiting for the next vision to overcome her, but nothing happens.

Opening her eyes, she looks into the swirling void, panic overriding all sense. “Please!” she cries, “Show me something, anything! I must protect my son, how can I prevent this from happening?”

The darkness bleeds into gray, and then into green. She stands on a curving rockbed, littered with weeds and other plants growing in and through and around its cracks. At first, Honerva doesn’t recognize where she is, but the constellations overhead suggest she’s on Gargalax.

A lone tree grows beyond the rock, its branches curving up to rest on the ground in front of her. Bending down, she finds a clump of mistletoe hidden among the leaves. Honerva watches herself make an offering to the plant before reaching inside and squeezing. The plant begins to wilt and wither, a dark brown slowly corrupting the green from the stems to the leaves. A soft, golden light begins to form from the plant, growing in life as the plant grows in death. The light calls to her, drawing her in to listen.

 _An offering of protection, that one may never know death so long as they do not know me._  

The light expands until it is blinding, bringing Honerva back to the abyss. She stands for a moment, processing what it is she has seen. Her son, dying, his new bride mourning over him. She wish she knew _how,_ or _when,_ but what she does know is what she saw after: the mistletoe, giving her a spell of protection for her son.  

There is no time to waste. Honerva bows, thanking the abyss once again for it’s knowledge. She knows where she must go, what she must do.

_To Gargalax._

 

* * *

 

Allura sits on her throne, drinking in her new husband beside her. She studies everything about him, the way his eyes are alight with excitement, the way his lavender skin perfectly sculps his flesh like a work of stone, the way his fangs glisten when he smiles. It’s breathtaking, and she thinks that no matter how old she gets she’ll never be used to the beauty that is her love.

His eyes catch hers, smirking like a cat trapping its prey. “Like what you see?” he teases.

“No, I positively love it,” she says. She takes his hand and brings it to her chest, cradling it like a child clinging to a treasured toy. “I love it more than I could have ever thought possible.”

His eyes soften at that, and he gently pulls her hand back to him. Gently, he kisses it, and a welcome warmth trickles down her spine. “My love,” he whispers, all the affection in the world channeled into that one short phrase.

“High Emperor Lotor!” comes a shout from below. The couple, without breaking apart, turn their attention back onto the festivities. The throne room is filled to the brink with people come to celebrate their wedding. It’s an amalgamation of races from all over the galaxy, joined together in merriment. Almost everyone is drunk, singing and dancing and running around the tables. Though typically a much more reserved race, Allura thinks she sees several Alteans participating in a drinking song.

The call comes from Axca, Lotor’s top general. She stands in front of a growing line of people, each one trembling in excitement. “It seems we have some people who would like to bestow their wedding gifts upon you.” 

Lotor raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Is that so? Well, by all means, let them come!”

They recieve any and all gifts imaginable. Precious jewels, foreign weapons, rare trinkets, time worn scrolls. Each one seems to be more extravagant than the last. Allura can tell Lotor is excited by all of the new weaponry; she herself is eager to tear into all of the new alchemic recipes and theory.

The last gift-giver comes forward, and Allura is touched to see it is Honerva, her new mother-in-law. The woman rarely stays in one place more than a day. Very quiet, very reserved, Allura knows Honerva is pleased with the union between her and her son, even if she hasn’t heard it said in so many words. She knew Honeva would be at the wedding, but she’d also heard she would be gone again by morning.

“My precious son,” Honerva begins, “my beautiful new daughter. My heart has never been more full than it is now. To witness this union, not only between my children, but between both of my people, is monumental to me. As you know, I too am Altean by blood. Late Emperor Zarkon—” _may he rest in peace,_ “my husband, dreamed of uniting our people like this. And now, his dream is being fulfilled by his son.” She walks forward and holds out her hand, beckoning for Lotor to come down and join her. Giving Allura’s hand a quick squeeze, he stands from his throne and goes to join his mother. “My gift to you is one I pray never need be useful.” Honerva pulls out something entirely not physical — a glowing gold ball of light. Closing her eyes, she brings the orb close to her lips, whispering an unintelligible prayer. She blows onto it softly, and the light scatters like dandelion seeds. It finds Lotor, surrounding him and glowing brighter. The light completely consumes him, before dimming down again and fading completely. 

Confusion grows on Lotor’s face, but before he can ask any questions, his mother continues. “My gift to you is this: Should anyone ever challenge this great new empire, you will most assuredly be protected. I give you the gift of immunity; the gift to feel no pain, magical or physical.” 

Allura gasps. In all of her years studying alchemic magic, she has never heard of anything like this. There’s no way it could be possible. Lotor’s eyes widen. She can tell he doesn’t believe it, either. 

“Are you… are you serious?” He asks, voice full of awe.

“Why don’t we test it out?” Allura turns to find the challenge come from Zethrid, another one of Lotor’s generals, easily the most violent of the three. Allura begins to protest, but Zethrid acts without hesitating. She throws her knife with deadly accuracy, piercing Lotor directly in the heart. 

Allura screams, hands covering her mouth in abject horror. She feels her stomach lurching, and worries she may empty its contents onto the stone floor. The crowd is completely frozen, not one person breathing as they look to see what will happen to their new Emperor. 

Lotor staggers back, clearly in shock from having been stabbed in the chest. He reaches up for the blade, struggling to get his hand on its hilt. When he pulls it out, however, it is completely clean. There is not one drop of blood on the steel. He pats his chest hesitantly, feeling for a wound that is not there. Staring at the knife in wonder, Lotor begins to laugh. “Incredible!” He cries, elated that he has not just been murdered on the night of his wedding.

The entire room erupts in chaos, yelling out all of the different ways they wish to try killing Lotor. “Please!” Allura stands, her tone demanding silence from her guests. “This is a wedding, not a tournament.” She walks forward, joining Honerva and Lotor. “This is an invaluable gift,” she tells Honerva. “We both thank you infinitely for this.” She places her arm in her husband’s, protectively pulling him closer to her. “Now, why don’t we get back to celebrating _without_ violence?”

She gestures for the servants to start passing around new drinks to everyone. They make the rounds, and Zethrid stands once again to make a toast. “Long live High Emperor Lotor! Long live Empress Allura!” 

Allura takes a sip from her drink as the crowd toasts. When she turns to look at Lotor, she finds him frowning slightly into his glass. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

He looks at her, unsure, brows furrowed. “Does your drink taste… bland to you?”

She sips her drink again. Nothing about it seems inherently off. “I don’t think so,” she says, giving him a strange look. “Perhaps you’ve just had too much to drink tonight.”

He nods, looking unconvinced. “I’m sure you’re right.” He wraps one of his arms around her, and she leans into the gesture.

She can’t be sure, but Allura feels he is squeezing her tighter than usual.

 

* * *

  

The light of the burning fire dances off Lotor’s bare skin, and Allura swears she is living in Valhalla.

Painstakingly slow, Lotor peels away his undershirt. He is turned away from her, removing layer after layer in what can be only be described as a _tease._ His shoulders flex, and Allura watches, fascinated, at the way his muscles ripple. Her eyes follow the curves and ridges of his back. Every line, every dip, every crevice is a part of the map that leads to _him._

She lays on their bed, naked and fully exposed, watching as her husband slowly undoes the braid that has held his hair up all night. It cascades down his back, flowing like a silver waterfall. Turning to face her, Allura’s breathe catches when his eyes, dark and hooded, meet hers. They’re burning deeper than she’s ever seen, staring her down with a lust that makes her _ache._ Her hands acts of their own volition, finding the swelling peaks of her breasts and squeezing. When he lets out a small growl, she desperately scrambles towards him on all fours, unable to keep herself away from him a moment longer. She paws at his chest, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

“I swear I have not married a man, but a god.” She lightly bites at the skin on his shoulder before trailing a path of kisses down his chest. Since the first time she met him, Allura has dreamed of tasting Lotor’s skin. Dreamed of when she could one day kneel before him and love him senseless. “Let me worship you,” she breathes, sucking at the skin just above his navel. At this, Lotor tenses beneath her touch, and Allura looks up at him, worried. “What is it, my love?”

He shakes his head. “I…” he pauses. He pulls her up into his arms, bringing his face to hers. “Kiss me,” he says, and she wastes no time giving into the request. _This_ she is familiar with, she has memorized the feeling of his lips on hers, the raw passion buried deep beneath an ever growing heat. She moves to open her mouth, but his remains still and unmoving against hers. It is clear now that something is wrong, and she breaks their one-sided kiss. Lotor doesn’t meet her gaze, so she takes his face in her palm and makes him look at her.

“My dear,” Allura pleads, “please tell me what is wrong.”

The silence lasts longer than what could be considered comfortable. He opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it again, no words able to escape. He repeats this several times, face scrunching up and souring. “I cannot feel you,” he finally says, and Allura can’t pretend to understand what he means by that.

“You can’t… feel me?”

Lotor pulls himself out of her embrace, walking over to stand in front of the still burning fireplace. He purposely avoids facing her when he speaks. “I don’t know how to describe it. All of my other senses are working just fine. I can see you, and smell you, and hear you. But… when you touch me, there’s nothing. I only know you are there because I can watch you. If I were to close my eyes, it would be as if you were not even there.”

None of that makes any sense, but as Allura thinks back on the events of tonight—

The drink at their wedding. He had made a comment to her about it being bland. She had brushed it off then, but, could this be the same thing? Slowly, Allura crawls out from her place on the bed and makes her way towards him. She places a hand at the small of his back, but he makes no movement that would suggest he feels it. “How is this possible?”

It does not take long for the two come to the same realization. Lotor turns to her, frantic. “Honerva,” they say together.

“She didn’t just take away pain, she…”

“Took away all feeling,” Allura finishes. It made perfect sense. To isolate one type of physical sensation from the others and erase it, that was unheard of. In all of her research, Allura had never come across anything like it. Taking away _all_ physical feeling, however, was a much different story. Still difficult, still rare, but not impossible.

Lotor falls to the ground, clawing at his hair. Quickly, Allura falls beside him, grabbing his arms before he rips his follicles out of his head. He is taking in short, gasping breaths. She can feel him shaking underneath her fingertips. “Lotor, my love, please calm down.”

He begins rambling as if he hadn’t heard her. “What do I… how do I… what do I do? What do we do? How can I live how can I…”

“Lotor!” He stops at the ferocity in her voice. “Look at me.” He turns his head away instead. “ _Look_ at me.” Hesitantly, he finally meets her eyes. His face has paled considerably, his skin clammy and drained. Seeing him like this… it breaks Allura’s heart.

She runs her fingers gently through his hair, a gesture she knows has brought him comfort in the past. “Do you love me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course I do.”

“Then we will get past this. Do not panic. Listen, I know your mother has already departed, but she will visit soon. She always does. When she comes, we will simply ask her to reverse the gift. The next few months may be harder than we expected, but as long as we have each other, it will be fine.” She smiles at him, hoping he can see how much she loves him in the gesture. “I regret not being able to have you to have my way with you tonight,” she leans in, mouth barely brushing his ear, “but just think of how satisfying it will feel when I can.” Lotor shudders at the words. He envelopes her into his arms, burying his face into her hair before inhaling.

“I will never know what it is I have done to deserve you,” he says into her scalp. “But I thank the gods every day for blessing me with this love.” She lets herself be surrounded by his embrace, nuzzling deeper into his chest.  She knows the gesture is just for her, and the thought sends her heart racing.

 _This won’t last forever,_ Allura thinks to herself. _We can survive this._

 

* * *

 

And for the next several months, they do.

The Galra-Altean empire positively thrives. It is an age of peace unseen by anyone before. The love between High Emperor Lotor and Empress Allura spans far beyond their territory and into kingdoms they’ve never even heard of. Their union does not just bring peace to their own people, but it inspires peace to the kingdoms around them.

It is simply a dream, and better than either of them could have ever hoped for.

No one besides Allura knows of Lotor’s condition. Rather, he is simply known as the Immortal King, an emperor that legends are written about. Fighters from all over the galaxy have come to try and challenge him and see his immunity in person, and in these duels, Lotor thrives. Secretly, Allura thinks they may be one of the only things getting him through. She never tells him this, of course, but when word finally arrives that Honerva will be coming to Daibazaal on a visit, they are both more than relieved.

“Mother!” Lotor greets, wrapping Honerva in a warm embrace. She has come with nothing but the skin on her back, as usual, and Allura wonders to herself how it is she can travel around like that.

Honerva is beaming as she takes one of Lotor’s cheeks in her fingers and pinches it. “My son, how good it is to see you again.” Allura approaches, and Honerva breaks away from Lotor, going to embrace Allura. “My daughter. I have heard so many wonderful things about you two on my travels. It makes my heart soar.”

Lotor glances back at Allura. She can read the question behind his eyes. _Should we ask her now?_ Allura nods. There is no reason to put this off any longer than necessary.

“Mother,” Lotor starts carefully. “I was hoping that the three of us could talk in private.”

“Is everything alright?” Honerva asks, concern growing in her voice.

“It’s—” Lotor hesitates.

“Everything _will_ be fine,” Allura says carefully. “There is just something we must ask of you.”

This doesn’t seem to appease Honerva at all, but there is nothing else they can do. They lead her to the private wing of the castle and into her guest chambers. Honerva nervously seats herself in one of the chairs, while Allura takes the edge of the bed. Lotor remains standing, leaning against the wall closest to them.

“So,” Honerva asks, “what is it you require of me?”

Lotor scratches at the spot just in front of his ear. “It’s about your wedding gift. You see—”

Honerva is out of her chair and on Lotor in an instant. “What about it? Has it faded? Did someone hurt you? What happened?” Her hands are frantically searching him, looking for any sort of injury. Lotor’s eyebrows raise, and he gently grips Honerva by her shoulders as he pushes her away.

“No!” Lotor assures her. “No, I’m completely fine. It’s quite the opposite, actually. You see…” Lotor looks to Allura, his expression becoming more worried. She gives him another supportive nod. “We were hoping you could... reverse it. Take it away.” Honerva pulls back as if stung.

“Take it _away_?” She hisses. “Why would I do that?”

“The spell, it didn’t just take away my ability to feel pain, it took away my ability to feel _anything._ ” Lotor crosses his arms, giving his mother a hard look. “It is an amazing gift, but the price is simply too high. I cannot pay it.”

Honerva scoffs at that. “Too high? No, I think it is a small price to pay to know that you will never die an unnatural death. It is a small price to pay knowing that your wife will never have to hold your dead and bleeding body in her arms. I have given you the gift of life. No price is too high for that.”

“‘The gift of _life_ ?’” Lotor exclaims, throwing his arms into the air. “No one in their right mind could call this living! A life without feeling is no life at all. I am a physical ghost, cursed to walk the planets and pretend to the universe that I am not dead.” His expression changes, and his voice becomes desperate, pleading. “You cannot imagine what it is like to go without the taste of food or drink. To have everything that touches your tongue be a bland, gray nothingness.” He drops to his knees, gripping Honerva’s hands. “You cannot imagine what it feels like to no longer feel the wind that blows through your hair, or the warmth of a fire, or the chill of the cold. You cannot… you cannot imagine what it feels like to look your wife, your beloved, your _everything_ in the eyes and tell her you are unable to physically love her, despite how much you wish to. Never getting to hold her in your arms, feel the touch of her skin, the heat of her lips. You said this gift would prevent me from feeling any pain, but it is the only thing I feel! It is constant and never ending, a dull ripping of my soul from my body, and I am forever forced to watch myself walk around in unmovable flesh.” Tears flow freely from his eyes, and Allura can feel her cheeks dampen with her own. Her chest is being pierced through by the broken remains of her heart. “I beg you, mother. Please, change me back.” Lotor’s head hangs low, his chest heaving.

Honerva stands frozen, mouth slightly agape. It takes her a moment to find her words. “I… I cannot do it.” Lotor’s head snaps up.

“You… you _cannot_ ?” Something snaps in him, then, and Lotor is on his feet, gripping the neckline of Honerva’s dress and pulling her closer. “What do you mean, ‘you _cannot_ ’?”

A choked breath escapes Honerva, and Allura instinctively flinches. “Lotor! She can’t breathe, you’re hurting her!” Hesitantly, he lets go, looking down on his mother in pure disgust.

It takes several moments of coughing, but Honerva recovers herself enough to speak. “I cannot reverse it. It is impossible. As far as I am aware, there is no way to remove the protection spell. Even if I could, though, I would not. I stand by my decision. I love you, Lotor. I understand that this must be difficult, but I have done this to protect you. I do not regret that.”

The impact of shattering wood registers in Allura’s mind before she can process that it was her husband who has picked up the nearest chair and thrown it into the wall. Anger radiates off his person, body twitching and trembling. “You had no right to make that decision!” he cries, “I never asked for this! You have violated my very existence! I may be your son, but I am also a being with my own will! How dare you look me in the eyes and claim that you love me while willing to subject me to this?”

Steel scratching steel, the sound of Lotor drawing his blade sends Allura on high alert. Instinct kicks in, and Allura is in front of Honerva before she can think. “Stop! Do not do this!” The grip on Lotor’s sword loosens, and he stares at her, horrified at how close he has come to running his blade through his bride.

“Allura, I—”

She reaches out, taking her hand and placing it over the one that holds his sword. Gently, she coaxes him into lowering it. “Listen to me. I will not pretend to understand what has happened to you. The fraction of it that I can comprehend is abhorrent. But, I know the pain of losing a mother, of losing the sole parent you have left. Please, think about this, and do not let your emotions persuade you into taking an action you may regret for the rest of your life.”

Lotor’s eyes soften, and he sighs, putting his sword back into its sheath. “I do this only for you,” he tells Allura. He turns back to Honerva. “As for you, witch, consider this me sparing your life even when you did not spare mine. As High Emperor of the Galra-Altean Empire, I formally exile you from Diabazaal and its connecting solar system. You will spend the rest of your days living on the outermost borders of our kingdom. Should anyone find you have come further than you are allotted, you will not be spared again. Do you understand?”

Numbly, Honerva nods. Without a word, she quickly exits, leaving Lotor and Allura alone to sulk the weight of what just transpired. The silence settles around them like a thick blanket, suffocating and quickly tightening. Allura wants to claw free of it, but she doesn’t know how, she doesn’t know what she would even begin to say in this moment. Lotor collapses beside her. His hair forms a curtain over his face, shielding him from everything else, and he wraps his arms around himself, slowly rocking back and forth.

“What do we do?” he whispers hopelessly to himself. “What do I do?”

Tears sting Allura’s eyes. She remains where she stands, making no effort to join her crumbling husband by his side. Instead, she just watches, knowing there is nothing that she can do at this moment. Pieces of broken wood still litter the floor around them. Some found their way into the unlit fireplace, while others managed to reach the bed. She makes no effort to clean those up, either. One of the chair legs rests nearby, and Allura forcefully grinds her foot into it, feeling the wood splinter beneath her.

The action does nothing to solve the larger issue at hand, but then again, what will?

 

* * *

 

Allura thinks things must eventually get better, but the slope is slippery, and everything only gets worse.

Whatever facade Lotor had been able to hold together at the beginning is shattered, replaced by all consuming madness. He adopts the idea that there must be a pain strong enough, a blade sharp enough, a poison lethal enough to shock his body back into feeling. For the masses, he remains their ever loyal and powerful ruler, level headed, intelligent, and an example for leaders everywhere, but it is nothing more than a thinly veiled lie — those who come close enough can see that the High Emperor is a deteriorating shell, paranoia and insanity eroding him from the inside.

Late at night, when Lotor believes Allura to be asleep, he goes and sits inside their fireplace, hoping that if he stays their long enough, his skin may eventually catch on fire. It becomes a horrific routine for Allura to wake and find her husband sleeping peacefully in the chimney, back against stone, fully engulfed in flames.

Assassins, poison masters, and expert trap makers come from the far corners of the galaxy to present Lotor their wares. Business deals are kept tightly under wraps, but Allura is not so naive as to not know what happens behind closed doors. Poisons so lethal that one drop could take down a weblum are downed in bottles. Explosives are swallowed like pills and then set off. Devices are created with the ability to drain all of the blood from the body.  

Non-suicidal means are also tried, of course, but these too are unsuccessful. Intimacy is quickly ruled out — _Lotor insists on doing what he can to pleasure his wife, but Allura refuses, not allowing herself to enjoy what her husband has lost -_ and tasting the pure essence of different types of flavors is a laughable failure.

So the physical desecration continues. Though it does not hurt Lotor, it destroys Allura. She does everything she can to help him, devoting all of her time to researching old alchemy, hoping to uncover any historical record of something similar to this. Eventually, though, Lotor’s obsession with curing himself becomes his sole focus, leaving Allura to rule their empire alone. Her days begin to bleed together, the line between day and night blurring. It takes all she has to keep their empire strong and believing they still have their High Emperor.

After a year of ripping his body to shreds with no success, Lotor decides to take a new course of action. “I must leave. In this whole galaxy there must be someone who knows how to reverse this.”

He stands at the mouth of his ship, remaining determined and resolute, despite all of the protests Allura has thrown at him in the weeks leading up to this. It does not stop Allura from trying again here, even when he is already pulling from her. “Lotor, please do not do this. Your empire needs you, _I_ need you, just think about this before—”

“Do you believe I have not thought of this?” He asks her angrily. “That this has not been the sole thing plaguing my mind during all of this time? I have not forgotten who I am, nor my duty as a leader. But I can no longer rule like this. I must find a way to break this curse.”

“But your mother said—”

Lotor puts his hands on her shoulders in a gesture to silence her. “I know what my mother said. But you know as well as I do that there is no magic done that cannot be undone. If my mother does not know it, than someone out there does. This isn’t impossible.” His voice softens, and he he takes a step closer. “I will return to you, Allura. I will return to you the man you fell in love with before we were married, the one who could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders and still succeed in carrying it. This will not last forever.” Burying his head into her hair, Lotor inhales. Smell is the one physical sensation that has not been taken from him, and he clings to it. It has become their most treasured way of showing affection.

A cough breaks their reverie, and they turn to see Axca approaching, hesitation in her step. “High Emperor, the Sincline is ready whenever you are.” Lotor nods, leaning down to kiss his wife.

It is the first time he has kissed her in a long time, and it is utterly passionless. Allura can tell he is _trying_ , but it is impossible to channel anything into a kiss you cannot feel. She gladly accepts it anyways, wrapping her arms around his neck and melting into him. The ship hums low, and Lotor breaks the kiss, brushing away a strand of hair from Allura’s face. Without another word, he turns away and heads into the ship.

She watches as the door begins to lift and close her husband inside. Seeing him stand there, Allura catches a glimpse of the Lotor he had promised to bring back to her: the one with stars in his eyes and fire in his soul, who intimately felt every aspect of life and loved it. In her chest there is an aching, and it presses and presses and _presses_ until oxygen can no longer escape.

“I love you,” he calls out as the door seals shut.

“I love you, too,” she whispers to the quickly rising ship. Soon, it is gone completely. The emptiness of the aircraft hanger screams at her. _Why did you let him go?_ It asks.

 _I don’t know,_ she tells it back.

Prayers have never much worked for Allura, but she sends one to all of the gods who are willing to listen, anyways.

_Please bring him back to me._

 

* * *

 

For years, Allura rules alone. Stories of the High Emperor going mad and leaving his wife are told in hushed whispers, but even the smallest of voices can be heard throughout the empire. No one dares speak them to Allura, but she can hear them clearly enough. Her castle feels empty, her heart feels emptier. No, not empty, but gone, off in space with Lotor.

He writes to her often. Despite what the ugliest of people may say, he has not forgotten her in all of this. In all of this time he never fails to send her detailed logs of the information he finds, elated letters of new leads, disheartened but never quitting news when his trails run cold. She writes back to him in earnest. She keeps Lotor updated on all official business, and life around the castle, and absolutely everything he misses while not with her. A pile of letters begging him to return home lay crumpled and unsent by her bed; she is not brave enough to send them. This is her only connection to him, and she holds a deep (and unfounded) fear that if she insists he return home, he will break it.

The letter she is writing now is one that will go unsent. It starts with her describing the trouble she was having with the ambassador from Puig before quickly devolving into _I don’t know how to do this without you please come home I miss you I wish you were by my side._

Sighing, she balls it up, throwing it into the corner. The paper bounces lightly onto the silk sheets of her bed before rolling off, crinkling as it connects with the others. She slumps back into her chair, digging her palms into her eyes. Everything she said in her letter was true, Allura doesn’t just miss Lotor, she is completely and utterly lost without him. Each day is harder than the last, the expectations of her growing larger and more demanding, all while everyone watches her intently just waiting for her to break. No one believes she can do this for much longer— _she will most likely die of heartbreak if her husband stays away much longer_ —despite her never giving her people any reason to doubt her strength.

How was it that Lotor described himself?

_A man who could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders and still succeed in carrying it._

Could she do the same?

“Empress Allura?” asks a muffled voice behind her door. Just in time, the voice is her only savior from the tears burning in her eyes. She squeezes them tight, forcing the tears to retreat. Taking a deep breath, Allura stands.  

“Come in.”

One of her guards enters her bedchamber. “The Paladins have arrived and request your presence.”

Allura’s eyes widen. “The Paladins are here? So soon?” They weren’t expected to visit for another month. The Paladins were a rogue group that didn’t officially belong to any one kingdom; instead, they traveled untethered around the galaxy, attempting to bring peace and assistance to anyone who asked for it. Since Lotor’s departure, they had become an invaluable help to the empire, as well as dear friends. Last she had heard, they were all the way at Balmera, settling a colonizing dispute. Hopefully, their early arrival meant good news, not bad.

“They claim they bring a gift for her majesty.”

Good news, then. “Thank you for letting me know. Let them know I will be down to greet them immediately, and have the kitchen staff prepare a meal for six. I expect they’re starving after their journey.”

The guard bows, bringing his arm to his chest. “Vrepit sa,” he says before departing.

 _A gift._ As excited as she is to see the Paladins again, she is selfishly eager to see what kind of present they have brought her. It must be something good, they rarely bring her gifts of any kind.

Allura finds them waiting inside the entrance of the castle. They stand close together, all laughing and immersed in conversation. Allura stands for a moment, watching and admiring them all. There are five of them: Shirogane (known simply as _Shiro_ to friends), Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk. They are all five of them humans, but rumor has it Keith has Galra blood in him. Still, the fact that five humans native to Earth, a planet well known for its isolation and reluctance to form inter-galactic relations, have risen to near legend status is more than impressive.  Each of them still wears their armor, color coded to each of the Paladins identifying markers (Allura has always found it amusing how they define themselves by color).

Lance, the Blue Paladin, is the first to notice her. “Empress!” he calls, and then all of them are rushing over, tackling her into a group hug. Formality has never been a part of their routine, and Allura is infinitely grateful for it. The paladins are the closest friends she has. They stayed with her, the first few months after Lotor’s departure. Without them, Allura does not think she would have been able to go on.

“Oh! Hello!” she says, muffled by the bodies all squashing her. “I am so pleased to see all of you here! I did not think you would be coming to visit for another month! Does this mean everything at Balmera went well?” Shiro breaks the group hug, only to pull Allura into one just between the two of them.

“It went more than well,” he tells her as he pulls back. Shiro gestures back to Hunk. “This guy right here was an invaluable asset. Without him, we’d probably still be there struggling to get the Balmerans to trust us.”

Hunk blushes at the compliment. “Oh please, that’s not true. We just got lucky that the one girl, Shay, was so willing to work with us.” Lance slaps Hunk on the back.

“More like, willing to work with _you_ ,” he says, making Hunk blush deeper.

“That’s wonderful!” Allura says, saving Hunk from having to explain himself further. “I would love to hear all about it. Are you hungry?” The widening eyes around her indicates they are. “I’ve asked the kitchen staff to prepare a meal for us.”

Lance gives Pidge a shove, pushing past her. “Race you guys to the dining hall!” Pidge gives an exasperated shout before chasing after him, Hunk shortly following. Keith rolls his eyes at them, taking Shiro’s hand without increasing his pace.

“What?” Shiro teases, “You aren’t going to race them?”

“No, I think we’re a little old, and a little too in the presence of the Empress to do that.”

Allura laughs. “Don’t stop on my account, I certainly don’t mind.” Shiro smirks at that.

“See that? It’s totally fine. Royally approved, even. I think you just know you’d lose.”

Keith scoffs at that. “Please, as if. I’ve always been the faster of us.”

“Oh, really? Is that true?” Shiro’s eyebrow raises, a glimmer in his eyes. “I guess you’ll have to prove it.” Then Shiro is out of Keith’s hold and sprinting down the hallway, cackling.

“Son of a —” Keith mutters. “Cheater!” he yells before chasing after Shiro. Allura runs after them, heart swelling with happiness. Oh, how she’s missed this, missed _them._ Secretly, she wishes they would come back and live with her full time, but she knows they’re too needed by everyone else to keep them here. Instead, she soaks this in, her hair flying back behind her, the sound of hasty footsteps echoing down the hall, the sight of her friends ahead of her, but still _here._

In the dining hall, a feast awaits them. It amazes Allura that her staff was able to have all of this prepared so quickly with no notice. Did they always have full banquets on hand, ready for whenever Allura asked for it? Everything looked magnificent. There were platters filled with a wide variety of fruits, both local and exotic, pots filled with soups of all kinds, several breadbaskets, and rows and rows of meat options. She knew they would never be able to eat all of it, but she knows that won’t stop the Paladins from trying.

They’re all drooling at the assortment, like dogs waiting to be told they are allowed to eat. “Please,” she says, “dig in.” They don’t need to be told twice. Manners are obviously not at the forefront of their minds, and for a few minutes they eat in silence, mouths too busy being stuffed full to converse.

When she sees them start to slow their pace, Allura finally brings up the topic she’s been dying to know about. “I heard a rumor that you brought something back just for me. A Balmeran crystal, perhaps?”

Shiro nods. “You heard right, Empress, but it isn’t a Balmeran crystal. In fact, it isn’t a crystal at all. Pidge?”

“Well, as you know,” Pidge starts, “the trip from Balmera to here is pretty long, and so we stopped on our way at a smaller planet called Gargalax. Nice enough place, if not slightly unfriendly. Anyways, we’re walking through a town there, looking for a place to stay, when we hear someone shout that they’re being robbed. We rush over and find this blacksmith who’s says a thief has just taken some of his most valuable weapons. It wasn’t hard to track the guy down, it was snowing and so we were able to follow his tracks without trouble, and the thief recognized us instantly. Man, he was terrified. So, he gives up the weapons without trouble and we go take them back to the blacksmith. Guy is _super_ grateful, keeps going on about how no one else in his town would have done something like that. He’s so grateful, in fact, that as a gesture of thanks he gives us his _most valuable_ weapon.” Pidge reaches into her bag, pulling out a shortsword, still in its scabbard.

The scabbard itself is beautiful, a gray-tinted leather inlaid with a light green embroidery that snakes up and curls around the sides like vines. The hilt is a pure, glossy black—obsidian, if Allura had to guess. Pidge unsheathes the blade, and Allura sees it as just as beautiful as the scabbard, if not strange. She can tell it is sharper than most swords just by looking at it. It’s thin, and light catches the tip, reflecting off of it brightly. What makes it so shocking is it’s color: the metal is pure green, the same shade as the embroidery.

“What is it made of?” Allura asks. “I’ve never seen any sort of ore that shade.”

“That’s the interesting part.” Keith says. “It’s just steel, like most run of the mill blades. But the blacksmith claimed that while being forged, it was fused with _mistletoe._ ”

“Mistletoe?” Allura asks, incredulously. “Isn’t that a plant? How would that even work? Or, even if it did, what would be the point?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know. What I _do_ know is this thing is the real deal. One of the smoothest short swords I’ve ever fought with.”

“The blacksmith told me that mistletoe is an important part of Gargalaxian culture.” Pidge says. “According to myth, the plant used to be a kind of wishing well. If you came to it in desperate need, and the plant saw that your intentions were pure, it would give it’s life to grant your wish. No one has seen any for years, though. Many believe it’s extinct.” Disappointment ripples through Allura when she hears the plant is extinct. Even if it is just a myth, that is just the sort of thing she knows Lotor is looking for. She tells herself she will write to him about it in her next letter, anyways. If it’s true, it might be a good lead.

Keith takes the sword from Pidge before handing it to Allura. Standing up and moving away from the table, she gives it a few practice swings, Allura feels it is perfectly weighted and balanced. Keith is right, Allura can tell this blade was made by someone who knew what they were doing.

“Thank you so much for this. It is a beautiful gift.” She feels a panging in her chest knowing Lotor would love this gift just as much, if not more, than she. “Now, tell me everything that happened with the Balmera!”

“Oh, man, it was awesome!” Lance starts, “Okay, so when we first got to the planet—”

He is interrupted by the door to the dining hall bursting open. In the entrance stands… Axca. She’s leaning against the frame of the door, doubled over and breathing heavily—she must have sprinted from who knows where.

“Empress!” Axca cries, struggling to catch her breath. “Please, I must speak with you immediately.”

Allura rushes to her side, taking her arm and helping her up, pushing down the panic that threatens to rise through her. The Paladins all remain seated at the table, unsure of what to do.  “What is it? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no. “It’s… it’s Lotor, your majesty.” Allura’s heart skips.  

“What happened?” she asks, terrified. “Is he here?”

She shakes her head again. “No, I’m alone. I don’t know what your last update from Lotor was, but we went to the Quantum Abyss. One morning he woke up in a cold sweat, kept going on and on about why he hadn’t thought of going their sooner. Honerva gained all of her prophetic knowledge from the abyss, and he had the idea that perhaps he could go to it and ask if it knew what would cure him. I didn’t see any visions for myself when we got there, I didn’t go close enough. But Lotor… five minutes with the abyss and he came back screaming. He claimed he saw his mother, going through the galaxy and destroying the cure.”

“Oh my gods.” Allura immediately knew what that meant. “He’s gone after her, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, your majesty. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me. As soon as he learned that his mother has been actively destroying the thing that would heal him, there was no getting through to him. I tried to get him to see reason, but he refused to listen. When he saw I wasn’t going to go with him willingly, he left me stranded on the nearest planet with civilization. I… may have stolen a ship to get here.” Allura realizes she hadn’t even stopped to consider how Axca had gotten back to her. A wave of disgust washes over her knowing that Lotor abandoned his most trusted general and guard without hesitation. “I know that you stopped him from killing her once. You are the only one who can get your husband to see reason. I fear he may kill her before he discovers what it is that can reverse him, and then he will be stuck in this state forever.”

Allura thinks on this for a moment, processing. “He did not see what the cure was?” 

Axca sighs. “No. If he had, I’m sure he would haven’t given his mother a second thought. We’d already be on our way to finding it. No, he only saw what he described as her, ‘actively hunting down what they needed and burning it’.”

This is bad, worse than bad. Axca is right, if Lotor goes to his mother now, he will without a doubt kill her without hesitation, even if she does not tell him what it is that will restore him. “Thank you for coming and getting me. Do you know where they are headed?”

“Yes. Your mother-in-law has been in hiding on a moon called Kerberos for the last several years.” 

All five Paladins react to that. “Kerberos?” Hunk asks. “That’s one of Pluto’s moons, near Earth. It’d take forever for him to get there.”

“Not in the Sincline,” Allura says bitterly. “If he went straight from the abyss, then he will be there soon, I am sure. None of my other ships are fast enough to catch up to him. We’ll have to use the teladuv here.” The teladuv was old magic, a key to gateways that could take someone anywhere in the universe, even if the person had never been there before. The drawback was that it did not travel with the user, stranding them wherever they go. If Lotor was headed to Kerberos, though, a way home was not a concern.

“Do you need us to go with you, Empress?” Shiro asks.

“No. I need you here to make sure nothing falls apart. I will not be gone long, a week at the most. I will try to send word to you as soon as I can. If you hear nothing from Axca or me in thirteen days, send a search party. I doubt it will come to that. For now, my empire is in your hands.”

Perhaps it is foolhardy to intrust her entire empire to five outsiders who are neither Galran nor Altean, but Allura trusts all of them with her life, and there is no time to set up proper arrangements for her departure.

Allura nods to Axca, and quickly, the two rush down to the basements of the castle. The last time she used the teludav was before she was engaged; it’s been years since she’s had to traverse through the labyrinth of the old dungeons and find her way to the hidden room it resides in. Still, she is able to navigate every curve and split in the path down with ease, and soon, the two stand in a long abandoned cell.

Cobwebs stretch across the far wall, gathered in the cracks of the stone. Allura brushes them away, gently placing her hand on a stone slightly jutted out from the rest. Taking a deep breath, she pushes, and the wall shakes, jostling free the coat of dust that has permeated before splitting open. Allura and Axca make their way inside.

Behind the cell rests a circular tunnel that seems to span out endlessly. Rows of scultrite stone line the walls, a steady blue glow emanating from them.  At the mouth of the tunnel stands a slender white podium. Allura approaches it, Axca following closely behind. “Place your hand over mine,” Allura tells her, placing her free one onto the podium, other still holding her new sword.

“To my husband,” she says, and immediately the two women are thrust forward. Intimately, Allura can feel every fiber in her being being pulled and stretched farther than it’s limits. The teludav is not just transporting her, but _rewriting_ her, copying body and soul and sending it to the far corner of the galaxy where Lotor resides. There are no senses except feeling, now, and that feeling can only be described as _intense._

As quickly as it starts its over, and Allura shivers as her body readjusts to existing and finds itself in the middle of a snowstorm. Allura hears Axca vomiting behind her, a normal response for someone who has never traveled by teludav before. She can clearly see the Sincline just behind them, but the oncoming snow makes it hard for her to discern anything beyond that.

Up ahead, Allura hears shouting, instantly recognizing the voice as her husband’s. “Axca,” Allura says, “stay with the Sincline. No matter what happens, do not join us, not unless I call for you directly.” The general gives a curt nod, and then Allura is running, desperate to reach Lotor before it is too late.

She comes upon a small cleaning, a lone, brown wooden shack the only color other than white to be seen. Standing in front of the shack is Lotor, sword drawn, towering over his mother, who is currently laying on the ground, shocked, but not visibly injured.

The years have not treated Lotor well. His skin has lost its pallor; his cheeks have sunken in. The strong, muscular physique he once carried is gone, replaced by something overall weaker, smaller. His hair, though still long, carries none of the shine it used to, now looking dull and limp, like discoloured straw. Ever since he left, Allura has longed to see him again, but never in her dreams has he looked so sickly.

“Lotor!” she calls to him. “Please, stop!” Allura sees his muscles lock. He turns to her slowly, hesitantly.

“Allura?” he asks, disbelief evident in his voice. “What… what are you doing here?”

She takes a step closer, and then another, until she is close enough to touch him. A tear drives deep into her heart as she looks into his eyes and sees they, too, have lost the life that once thrived behind them. “Axca came to me and told me what happened.” Lotor’s face hardens at this.

“So then, you know what my mother has done? You know the treason she has committed, actively lying to the High Emperor and plotting against him?” His voice raises, “You know that she has committed crimes not just against her ruler, her emperor, but her _son_?”

“Yes, Lotor, I do,” she says softly. “And I know you are prepared to execute her here, but listen to me, she cannot die without telling us what it is that will cure you.”

Lotor laughs humorlessly. “She will never tell me, even if I place my blade to her throat.”

Carefully, Honerva stands. “He is right. Kill me if you must, but I will never tell you how to reverse this. I love you, Lotor. I am prepared to die so that you may live.” Lotor’s nostrils flare, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Love me? You have no right to claim that you love me! If you truly loved me, you would have ended this years ago and told me what you knew. You would have given me the gift to _feel_ again, and my life would have never been derailed. I would have never had to leave my empire, or my wife, to hunt down for the one thing you could have freely given me! If you loved me, you would feel even an _ounce_ of regret for the hell you have subjected me to and tell me what it is I need to know now.”

Honerva shakes her head. “You have no child, so you do not understand the sacrifices a parent will make for their offspring. If you must forever curse my name, so be it. I will always choose protecting you.”

Closing his eyes, Lotor sighs. “You are right, I do not understand.” He lifts his sword, making a move to swing it, ready to strike Honerva down where she stands.

“No!” Allura cries. On instinct, she takes her sword and thrusts it up into Lotor’s side, hoping the impact will shock him enough to stop. Pulling it out, burning vile rises up through Allura’s throat.

The blade is coated in the deep, metallic red of blood.  

The world begins to blur. Allura holds her blood soaked sword, staring at it in pure horror. She registers Honerva screaming, but all of her attention is focused on Lotor. Weapon still raised over his head, he turns his head towards his wife, face ashen. He drops his sword, snow crunching under the weight of the metal, and places his hand on the hole in his side. Bringing his now red stained hand up in front of his face, he stares at it in wonder before once again looking to Allura.

“What… what did you do?” he asks. There is no malice or accusation in his tone.

Allura does not know how to speak. “I…” she tries to get out. “I…” Lotor shakes his head, dismissing his own question.

“I can feel again,” he says. “I feel all of this. The cold, the snow, the _pain._ ” Eyes widening in realization, he staggers closer to Allura, cupping her face in both of his hands. “ _You._ I can feel _you._ ” Before she can respond, Lotor kisses her, and oh, she forgot what truly kissing him was like.

Years of unchanneled love are being poured into this one kiss, and, despite the circumstances, Allura easily falls into it, melting as his lips work against hers, gently coaxing her mouth open and finding a rhythm. Reality, however, does not stop, and Lotor gasps, knees buckling under him. He falls, unable to support his own weight. On his knees, blood drips from his sides onto the white snow below him. Allura immediately falls beside him, wrapping him in her arms.

“What have you done?” Honerva screams over them. “Did you know?”

“I don’t know anything!” Allura screams back. “I don’t know how this is possible, how I—” But she does know, as she looks back on everything, it all clicks perfectly into place.

“It’s mistletoe, isn’t it?” Allura asks. “The cure to his curse is mistletoe. The Paladins told me, they said no one had seen it for years. They gave me this sword… as a gift.”

Such a simple answer. How had they gone so long without figuring it out? How had neither of them known, how was it that the Garlaxian legend had been isolated to where no one else knew about it?

Lotor groans, and it is all forgotten on Allura. Her attention is focused solely on her dying husband, who is currently bleeding out in her arms. “Allura…” he mumbles. “The love of my life… I am… so sorry.” She tries to shush him, but he continues. “I am sorry that I left you. You have done what I could not… and I cannot thank you enough for… for freeing me. I have forgotten how wonderful it is to _feel,_ and you, who I have loved without ceasing, have given it back to me. Thank you.”

Allura’s hold on Lotor tightens, and she brings his head into her arms, rocking him gently. “My love,” she whispers, tears blurring her vision. “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.” She repeats the phrase over and over, her fingers stroking his hair in the way she knows he loves.

“I never did like to see you cry.” he tells her weakly. “I always preferred you smiling. You have the most beautiful smile.”

Genuinely, she smiles at that. His eyes lighten up, and Allura is thrown back to her wedding night, when she sat with him on their thrones, and he gave her that exact same look.

The light fades until it is gone completely.

“Lotor?” Allura asks, knowing there will be no response. “Lotor… Lotor no, please, don’t leave me. Please! Don’t go!” She’s screaming, now, screaming her throat raw, vocal chords tearing under the weight of her sobs, lungs constricting so she cannot breathe, cannot inhale enough air to allow her to continue to scream.

Honerva screams, too. “What have you done?” she screeches, “What have you done? You’ve killed him, you’ve killed my son, your husband! Wretched demon, I shall have you imprisoned by your people for this crime! I—”

“Stand down, witch.” Allura demands. Laying her husband down, she stands, a terrifying calm washing over her. She moves to Honerva, feeling a familiar pulsing through her veins as she begins to grow taller, her chameleonic abilities allowing her to tower over Honerva. “You will not threaten your Empress, especially not after she has just saved your life. I have not killed your son. My husband died on the night of our wedding, the moment you took away his ability to live. You truly think you have power over me?” Allura scoffs. “I would have you in chains before you could convince one person of my guilt. My people know who you are. For years, your name has been little more than a bedtime story, a cautionary tale used to scare children into behaving, lest the witch Haggar come and curse them into never feeling anything again.” Picking her sword back up, Allura presses the tip into Honerva’s jugular, enough for her to feel it but not enough to break the skin. “Tell me, my husband wished to execute you, why should I not honor his wish now that he is dead?”

To this, Honerva says nothing. She remains still, unmoving, her stony expression betrayed only by the slight quiver of her lip.

Allura lowers the sword. “I do not honor his wish, because I would much prefer you go on living, plagued by the knowledge that your son died at no one else’s hand but your own. Say whatever horrid things you want about me, but deep down, you will know it is no one’s fault but your own that Lotor’s body is nothing more than another object for this planet to freeze. Go, be gone. Your banishment is now extending to our— _my_ entire empire. If you are seen stepping foot on my territory again, you will immediately be arrested, _alive._ ”

Honerva, visibly trembling, raises an unsteady hand to point at Lotor. “May I at least… may I hold my son, one last time?”

Everything in Allura wants to say _no,_ she doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near him. But looking at this broken, defeated woman, compassion wins out. “Hurry.”

Weakly, Honerva walks towards him. She kneels down, carefully taking his shoulders and lifting them, allowing her access to cradle him. She gives an unheard prayer, gently closing his eyes before touching her forehead to his. Then, just like that, she’s up, turning and walking away until the snow erases her completely, leaving her nothing more than a wandering ghost.

Allura wants nothing more than to fall down into the snow and let it bury her. Her limbs feel like they have been replaced by lead, weighing her down and demanding she fall. But her work isn’t done, she knows there is no way she will be able to move Lotor on her own.

Luckily, the Sincline isn’t too far. Allura gradually makes her way back towards the ship, the snowstorm wailing against her, demanding she stop and give up. Eventually, though, she sees the large silhouette ahead, and she tumbles, too defeated to try and keep herself up any longer. “Axca,” she calls out, “Axca!”

The general is there in an instant, bending down and pulling Allura up, helping her to her feet. “High Emperor Lotor is dead,” Allura says. “I need your help bringing his body back. I… I can’t carry him alone.”

Wordlessly, Axca nods. Together, the two make their way back to where Lotor lies, now half buried beneath the unrelenting snow. Coming to the body, Axca hesitates, inhaling sharply as she approaches. The holes where Allura penetrated no longer bleed; chunks of red ice cover the wounds instead. Axca’s eyes bounce between the body and Allura’s shortsword, gears quickly turning and piercing together what has happened. She lets out a shaky breath and looks up, squeezing her eyes together tightly.

Panic settles over Allura, worried that Axca may turn against her knowing it was she who killed Lotor. Though Axca has always respected and trusted Allura, her loyalty has always been first and foremost to Lotor.  But she shakes her head, steeling herself, and then continues forward, bending down beside him. Allura is fully prepared to help Axca carry Lotor, but it turns out to be unnecessary. Axca hoists him up into her arms, bridal style, then nods to Allura.

The walk back to the Sincline is infinitely longer than the one to Honerva’s shack. They walk in silence, the sound of the wind the only thing to be heard. _Just a couple more steps,_ Allura tells herself, _and then you can stop. Just a couple more steps, and this will be over._

Of course, this isn’t even close to being over. No, this is just the start to a nightmare Allura spent years rejecting. She would have to return to a Galra-Altean Empire that now had no Galra leader, answer to the masses on why her record of ruling alone all of this time showed she had no plans for this to mean an imbalance between the two races. She would have to tell the people what happened, how it came to be that the Immortal King suddenly perished. Despite the speech she gave Honerva, Allura feels no confidence in herself. If the people discovered the truth, that she had been the one to end Lotor’s life, would they continue to follow her? Or would she be held trial for the murder of the High Emperor?

They come to the mouth of the Sincline, and Allura stops. Axca continues forward another couple feet before realizing Allura is not following her, then stops as well. “Your majesty?”

“I do not know what will happen when we return to Daibazaal, but I expect we will both be bombarded with endless questions about what has happened here today. I trust that you will tell them the truth: Honerva, mother of the Empire, placed a curse on High Emperor Lotor that drove him into an all consuming quest to reverse it. That is what killed him—that is _who_ killed him. Understand?”

Gulping, Axca nods. “Yes, Em-” she stops, catching herself. “Yes, High Empress.”

The title throws Allura off. “What?” 

“As you are now the official sole ruler of the Galra-Altean Empire, I expect you will be re-crown as High Empress.”

Allura lets this sink in. Yes, she supposes, she will. She’s been alone for so long now, still just _Empress,_ that she never considered that the title ‘High Empress’ may one day go to her. Allura nods, and continues into the Sincline, her steps slightly more confident.

_Long live High Empress Allura._

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://themomentofdavyprentiss.tumblr.com)


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